


He's an asshole until he isn't

by izzbelle



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Porn, Possessive Loki, Shapeshifting, Superpowers, Tony Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-26 07:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzbelle/pseuds/izzbelle
Summary: I am sick!!! sick!!! of reading loki/reader fic and getting to the point where loki inevitably says "you will be mine my PET" PETTT!!!!! *screams eternally*So here is some realistic (straight surprisingly) porn with very little plot. I may have lied about the plot. What? I'm a sucker for slow burns:You're a new Avengers' recruit, which you thought meant you got to save the world. Twice. Apparently though Avengers also eat dinner, and drink beer, and watch movies too. This is the one where Loki's a jerk and lacking serious social skills. This is also the one where, eventually, you kinda dig that (by dig that, I mean into the mattress).





	1. step one: assert dominance

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: 
> 
> Violence and choking within that context. Your abilities encompass shapeshifting and taking on the powers of those you shift to so there are some nasty depictions.

***

Stark was loaded. Not the type of loaded that bought you vacation houses in different countries and expensive Russian wives. He was the type of rich that allowed you to have a helicopter pad on top of a tower with your name plastered across it, the bright lights hanging like the moon above the dimly light the city below. That was your first thought as you rode the elevator to the top of Stark Tower, backpack flung on your shoulder and suitcases crowding your legs. 

***

Tony discovered you on a whim, under slightly less than ordinary circumstances. You had been working for a small tech company in Manhattan that Stark sometimes relied on for the more intricate wiring of his various projects. The place was low-key but reliable, with little demands on personal life and gave you access to the key for a lofty warehouse on the other side of the river, where the company stored anything mass-produced. This is where you practiced shifting. 

Usually it was animals, sometimes people that you knew well enough. After the attack on New York, where you scrambled out of your apartment to get a good look at the creatures pouring from the sky, you put your mind to trying a trans-species shift. A week later you found yourself holding an ethereal looking metal scrap you had grabbed from the streets on the day of the attack. You remember the steady heat working up through your legs, and the furrow in your brow as you pressed on. 

The unusual warmth twisting its way through your veins swelled until a searing pain lanced up your spine, knocking you to the ground and forcing you to open your eyes. Raising your arms to your blurred vision, you almost vomited at the steel coloured shrapnel protruding from your forearms, like spines along a dragons back. Your veins had turned a too dark shade of blue, and pulsed violently against the pieces of your skin, which had remained un-shifted. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“Shit indeed (Y/N). Not quite what I think you were going for,” You jolted, dropping the stone you hadn’t realized was still clenched in your fist and willed the essence of whatever you had tapped into, back out of you. The metal receded tentatively, and your veins returned to their normal pulse. You stood up on shaky legs, looking wildly around for whoever had spoken. “Up here.”

Tony Stark was sat on a shipping box above you, giving a small wave and tight smile. “That wasn’t smart. It was actually dumber than what I thought you were doing originally, if that’s even possible.” 

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I could say the same to you, you have ten seconds before I shoot. What are you?” He threatened, managing to seem disinterested. 

“I wasn’t stealing from you, I just use this place to practice,” You stumbled over the words quickly.

“I realized that about a month ago. What else can you do?” He raised his eyebrow, toying with the gear on the hand of his iron suit. He suddenly stilled, really looking at you for the first time since you shifted. “Let me rephrase that: what can you do for me?” 

***

And so here you were. The newest recruit to the Avengers team. You looked over your shoulder at the elevator door sliding closed. The man at the front desk said to go up and wait. Who were you to deny the billionaire your presence? Leaving your bags in the middle of the foyer, you walked cautiously into the living room, glancing around the black slate floors and minimal furniture, lit by the branches of a skeletal chandelier. You walked around the couch, running your fingers along the deep burgundy leather. It was echoey. “Jesus Tony, why do you look like you got robbed,” You laughed. 

“Because he was, of a decorator,” An accented answer took you by surprise from the kitchen. You jumped a little at the sound of another person. As you made your way towards the noise, you could see a tall man dressed in black hunched over a book at one of the island chairs. A spark of nervousness skittered along your ribs, as you realized you would be meeting the people that saved the world. Twice. Probably more. You were no longer a freak mutant, but a freak, important mutant. How has Tony put it? Like becoming a celebrity, but for the right reasons. 

The man turned towards you, unusually light eyes narrowing slightly, and pale skin stark against dark hair. They looked other worldly, old, “You are new,” Blinking you found your way out of his stare, coming to a realization. Your breath caught in your throat. Not an Avenger. Also not world saving. Also also not good. You knew this man from the countless news reports on the invasion of New York. You also knew this man from the announcement of his death in Asgard, which apparently was completely inaccurate. 

You took a few paces back, towards the elevator, “You are definitely not meant to be alive?” Should you be trying to kill him? Was this your first test as an Avenger? Was Tony the biggest dick you had ever met? You only knew the answer to one of these questions. The man did not flinch at the question, only turned his lip up in something of a sneer. 

“Welcome to Stark Tower,” Loki looked away with a disinterested turn of his shoulders. “Third door to the left.” 

A soft whirring noise stirred above you and a message rang out over the intercom. “Hey (Y/N), its Tony. We ‘re going to be a little late; I live a busy life, but Reindeer Games will show you your room. ” The tension that wormed its way into your shoulders loosened slightly. Not a test. You looked at the man at the counter for a moment, but he made no attempt to stir. At least he was meant to be where he was. 

You had so many questions starting with why was Loki at Stark Tower. You sighed and stowed your curiosity, grabbing one bag at a time and dragging it to the empty room at the end of the hall. 

Moving day hadn’t been easy and you had seriously considered shifting to a horse to carry the mass amount of bags you had. Though, Manhattan was not easy to navigate as a loose equine, a learned experience you still has nightmares about. Letting out a breathe of air you hadn’t realized you were holding, you flung the final suitcase across the floor and collapsed onto the mattress. 

***

You sat at the dinning table looking warily at your vegetables, willing them help you stimulate the table and the four people around it, lacking any form of natural conversation. Tony furtively talked into the air, the occupants only listening to his ramblings to relieve the awkward tension. He was excited about his newest project and how it was ground breaking many fields such as...

“-sexual misconduct”. Your head snapped up to where Pepper, Thor and Loki looked tiredly at their landlord. Pepper opened her mouth to object to whatever Tony was talking about before he interrupted her. “Now that I have your attention, I would like to formally introduce you to the newest member of our humble little team, (Y/N). Reindeer games, you’ll like this bit, guess what I found her shifted as?”

“Tony…” Pepper warns.

You cleared your throat at the inquisitive look both Thor and Loki now shoot Tony, the levity of their gazes turning on you. It must be a god thing, the weight of their eyes. You only can hope it isn’t an Avenger thing; you couldn’t just stop in the middle of a battle because Thor decided to make eye contact. Loki’s were different though, they were a shade lighter than any human’s should rightly be, and it was disarming. Dammit they were just eyes, you shook yourself from your thoughts.

“A Chitauri, actually. But it was only to experiment with other,” You pause, carefully choosing your next words. “Races. It went to shit pretty quickly though, I don’t think human vessels can hold non-organic matter.” You noticed a round of glances being passed, “But I’m working on it.” You added. 

Tony nodded with a pleased smile. “That’s what we like to hear.” 

The conversation picks up after this, Tony and Pepper squabbling in a pathetic attempt to hide flirting, and about whether there should be DNA tests done on you. Loki hasn’t stopped shifting his eyes in your direction since the mention of the Chitauri. Thor is going through the training schedule with you, laughing heartily at his brother when the man tries to opt out of the session tomorrow. The water glasses shiver as Thor’s noise shakes the table. A kind of normal coworkers’ dinner. 

“Loki will be sparring with you for the duration of this weeks training. We spar in both hand-to-hand, and within the bounds of your abilities,” Loki begins to object but settles into his chair stiffly when Thor gives him the option of swapping partners. Banner would arrive tomorrow with Steve. The man had disappeared for years after the battle at Sokovia, and as Thor described his return with his brother and the scientist, you still could not help but wonder at Loki, the ex-genocide instigator’s role in this all. 

***

The floor of the training facility in Upstate New York shook heavily as Banner threw Thor into the ground, who immediately stood up to avoid two large green fists pounding into the earth where he was seconds before. They looked like they actually wanted to kill each other, and the aggression that they summon was something you still were not able to grasp. Neither was Loki. But he apparently didn’t need to; his unearthly power seemed to come from the satisfaction he got from slipping through your fingers time and time again. 

Every time you think you had him pinned, his magic dissipates and you are left grabbing at air, his smug face leering at you from a safe distance. It was beyond the point of embarrassment now. Your eyes shifted to size up the asshole, now standing beside you with crossed arms and foot tapping impatiently, Tony and Steve were in the other large space behind you two, the engines of his suit grinding as Steve grappled with its hard-set shoulders grunting with effort. “Come on Gramps, that the best you-” A large clang rang out, causing you to turn just as Tony bangs on the ground to surrender and shoves Steve off. “(Y/N), Loki, get your asses out here,” He grunts.

You turn shortly and walk towards the centre of the space, rubber floors light under your feet. You tried not to trudge, but the frustration of the situation was getting to you. It was the smallest things that set you off on him and it was completely his fault with his goddamn attitude. Every time the striking man even made eye contact with you now, your chest did this stupid constriction routine. It was like your body was tuned to snap at him, and the worst nights you found yourself in your room, punching a the life out of a pillow to relieve whatever was building in your lungs. 

“This is a waste of my time,” You snapped out of your thoughts.

“Excuse me?” You turned to look at him incredulously. The entirety of the flights over, Loki has been quiet. The lofty set of his jaw, which you had come to know after days of forced silence, had become a full on exercise in just how arrogant the tilt of his chin could be. “Do you have something better to be doing?” You were getting faster at shifting, and it was only a matter of time before you had him pinned. You felt it. 

“You are weak and I am bored.” He shrugs casually. It hits you that he doesn’t look angry, just detached. Like he has better places to be. 

“Fucking watch it Loki,” You see him narrow his eyes and begin to walk across the mat, towards the exit doors. Thor shouts something vaguely intimidating from the other side of the stadium. Loki doesn’t stop. Going after him, you grab the arm of the stupid leather jacket, and spin him around, “I said. Fucking. Watch it.” Tony shouts something from a distance that goes over your head, focused on glaring the impossible creature into agreement. 

Without warning, his mouth twitches up and his hand shoots out, grabbing you by the neck tight, too tight. You feel the ground beneath you disappear and realize in a panic that he is lifting you up. You feel the air in your lungs hot and urgent against your crushed windpipe, pushing against his hold. Your eyes water as you scrabble for purchase at his hands. He is stronger than his lithe frame lets on and has you at a large height disadvantage. Waves of fear drown your rational thought. You need air. 

A thought flashes through your mind that even if the psycho gets pried off of you, you lost again. You were always going to loose to him. Something dangerous races though your blood at this recognition, and you feel anger simmering up in your stomach. Fuck him. Fuck him and his fucking god-complex. Fuck him and his fucking aloof attitude, refusing to work with you. Fuck him and his fucking eyes, looking at you with gravity and age, like a child. They’re green this close. 

 

Why.  
Do.  
You.  
Keep.  
Thinking.  
About.  
His.  
Fucking.  
Eyes. 

You make quick work of your decision as you hear Tony call to Steve to break it up. You go limp against his hold, closing your eyes as gratification almost causes you to tense up again, drawing in a shallow breath of relief. Concentrate. You keep your eyes closed, once again bringing your hands up to the ones still firmly around your throat. That was going to bruise. 

Before he could move, you force your thoughts to channel into his essence, like the night when Tony found you with the alien metal, this time you wouldn’t fuck it up. You smiled against his skin, against the arms that were still choking you, as you felt the essence answer you, strangely pressing itself up against your ability. It was strong whatever it was, but soon you would be too. With a last ragged breath dragged in from his loosened hands, you use your legs to kick at his chest, drawing the aura with you. 

Before at the warehouse, the shrapnel had burned you slowly, but with your shifting advancing in speed, you jerk violently out of Loki’s grip as ice claws its way through your body. You feel your bones cracking with a force that only gets generated when you morph into something larger than your form can adapt to, skin stretching and growing, frozen in a low temperature. 

You open your eyes wincing first at the red haze, and then at your blue form. What the fuck is this? You pause to look questioningly to Loki, who stares at you from the distance you put between him, and for the first time you see uneasiness in his posture. The annoyance that pushed you to this point lets out a war cry: your hesitation dissolves. Testing the power surging through your palms, a large shard of ice grows in your palm. Loki shakes himself of whatever emotion he let slip through his egoist wall, but the battle is short. From the other side of your self-summoned weapon, his expression is unreadable. He lowers his eyes. Your body gets wracked with a shudder, this form will not hold much longer. 

So as the anger drains out of you, you return to your true form. 

Falling backwards onto your ass with a small noise, you allow your back to hit the ground, panting heavily. Your view of the ceiling crowds with Steve, Banner and Thor looking at you warily. A laugh bubbles out of your mouth, verging on hysterical even in your own ears. You collect yourself with a sigh and sit up, taking Bruce’s hand to stand, the two other men giving you room to breath, “Are you still bored, Loki?” He was gone. 

“Loki went back to the tower, (Y/N),” Steve said after a beat of silence. You frowned at how easy it was to be disappointed. 

You glanced towards the exit, where Tony was approaching from, “Now that, was the good stuff.” 

You smiled tightly, wincing at a headache coming on. 

***


	2. step two: apologize for asserting dominance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's kind of yummy. Cue inappropriate thoughts at the workplace. 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> Identity crisis? Turkey?

***  
None of the Avenger’s seems perturbed by what they had seen you turn into: what Loki was hiding, so you assume it isn’t a big deal, things are fine. The little traitorous voice in the back of your head tells you that things are not. After the fight, you had all flown back in relative silence. This was brought on partially by the exhaustion of training, and partially because every time you tried to ask Thor what the fuck Loki was, you were conveniently interrupted by innocently timed questions by America’s very own sweetheart and pain in your ass: Steve Rodgers. 

“What can you change into?” Animals, people. (And now aliens, though you leave this out of your answer).

“How does the shift happen?” You shrug. It has to do with the essence of a person and accessing it. Visualization, physical contact, past experiences, it all adds to it. You watch a lot of nature documentaries. You try to convey how difficult it is to explain these things. Steve doesn’t really get it. He also tries to convey this to you.

“How big can you go,” You smile, despite yourself. Pretty big, the biggest was a mammoth on a dare, but you get you could get t-rex standard with practice. Steve chuckles softly. Tony adds something about the tower not allowing animals on the premises unless leashed, and you will not be an exception. Thor now takes his turn to laugh, but the difference is it’s loud enough to shake the aircraft so Tony ends up screaming and the undercurrent of tension is broken. Everything is once again okay. 

That is at least what you think, till you touch down on the steps down from the helicopter and Thor pats your back, “Go to him. I fear otherwise you will loose a training partner,”

Last thing you wanted to do.

***

So here you were walking through the halls of Stark Tower. When you thought about it, it was simple. Either Loki was a giant blue snow monster thing or, well, nothing. Because there was no other excuse for what had happened. Simple. What wasn’t so simple was his petulant attitude towards you. 

Walking along the corridor that Thor had pointed out to you as where Loki resided, you realized you had half expected his room to be stuffed in the basement or doubling as some sort of dungeon for security purposes. You didn’t need gossip to know the god was impulsive. Or tried to take over Manhattan with an army of aliens: you had the newspaper for that. On that note, maybe he more suited a cave. Somewhere dark, where the god could complain about Midgard and humanity to the echoing silence. Like a dragon. A grumpy, entitled, green dragon. 

However, the only room along the corridor with any signs of life was not a cave or a dungeon. It was marked by a fist size dent in the plaster to the left of the door, cracks running outward to the floor and ceiling- normal. Uncertainty ran through you like a current from your shoulders to heel, and you briefly consider turning back, but Loki was your training partner, and if you were left with these questions and his incessant indignation, you doubted that any productive sparring would take place. 

Also, the Avenger’s were not sentimental people; they did not have emotions to waste time on. Thor was not your therapy counsellor. He had shit to do, planets to save, thunder to bolt, and if he mentioned to you that you needed to go talk to his brother, it was probably for an important reason. From only the past week, you guessed Loki would be brooding for a month if you left this unsettled. 

Raising your hand to the door, you made up your mind, fist poised to knock. Before you could, however, the door swung open to reveal a dishevelled, jean clad Loki looking unimpressed as usual. Your eyes travelled upwards in an attempt to meet his eyes, start the important conversation, but you instead paused on the rumpled black t-shirt, which had ridden up to reveal a small portion of his pale stomach. Shaking your head at yourself, you forced your eyes higher, because god dammit, you were allowed to be caught off guard by a god in denim. His usual slicked back hair was fucked five ways to Friday framing his face, and without his usual green leather get up, his eyes were a vivid colour. 

You really, really fucking needed to stop looking at this man’s eyes. He couldn’t help that they were such an unusual colour. 

The only thing that distracted you more than the sickeningly domestic looking god, was what was behind him. Flicking your eyes around his body into his room, you found yourself affronted by pieces of stray attire strewn on the floor; drawers left dangling from their tracks, spilling whatever contents they had onto the floor (dangerous looking content if that glowing purple ball was anything to tell by); and a white duvet left sprawled across the floor, as if Loki had decided he needed a second carpet. 

“Jesus, how can you find anything in that,” Your mouth decided it needed to comment. You snapped your trap shut and grimaced internally at the harsh tone of voice, you most definitely did not mean to use. 

Loki doesn’t say anything, but if it is even possible, his expression tells you he is growing further disinterested in your presence. 

“Sorry, sorry,” You rush before he can close the door, “I just wanted to say that-“ And that’s where your thought trail ends, because sure, you came to work out whatever weird mojo has been following you and him around since stepping into the training centre, hell, since you walked into Stark Tower. But you didn’t want to apologize for what you did in the sparring practice, because if anything, Loki deserved the shit you threw at him. You were playing the game, and the game was to beat your partner; you were playing by the rules and he wasn’t. 

From a less than welcoming introduction, to the cool distance he kept you at, the facts were that besides a little field experience, you were no different from the rest of the Avengers, who he seemed to grudgingly respect. Loki was a smart man, god, whatever. He was powerful, enough that it scared you to think he could knock you around like a ragdoll if he actually tried. He was old, like ancient, all encompassing; I’ve been here since the birth of all stars old. And charismatic, eerily so when he wanted something. 

But the man was also angry, this seething mass that sat under his skin waiting for someone to tread wrong. He was juvenile, the specific stage of childishness that you had grown out of as a teenager, where you wanted all eyes on you but for all the wrong reasons. The type that was bred from living in the shadow of a hero of an older brother called Thor. He also had a stubborn streak a mile wide that most people would mistake for wrongful ambition. But you saw this differently in the everyday, like when he punched the refrigerator door to get ice, or like when he read an entire book in one sitting, or even the time he broke the door handle off to the pantry because it was jammed. 

Through and through, he has no excuses because even as a deity, a villain, a prince, he had flaws like your average Joe, and it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t deny it constantly. They were all age old signs of a complete-

“Asshole. You’re an asshole.” For the second time in a week, Loki looks perturbed, his eyebrows inching closer to his hairline. You look at the hole to the left of his door for morale. 

“You’re a god. Big deal. You treat me like shit and I came to apologize for whatever the fuck happened out in the ring today, but honestly, I’m finding it hard to work up to.” Eyebrows still inching closer, frowning deeper (eyes brighter too), your brain helpfully provided. 

“I don’t like you, you don’t like me, whatever. If you can try to take over earth, you can try to be civil.” Your brain has stopped sending you useful (and unnecessary) information about Loki’s expression (and his eyes). Shutup brain. So you are forced to look carefully for a reaction. At first look, you think he’s going through a meltdown, like whatever circuits run him are glitching big time. But then his blank face cracks and his eye twitches. You think he’s going to pull another thrasher moment on you, so you take a step back in case of any neck crushing, hand movements. Loki instead, like the god of tricks he is, takes his turn to amaze you. 

He tilts his head back and lets out a short, sharp laugh. 

Great, you figure he just took none of that seriously. Loki runs his hands down his face pausing to pull lightly at his hair, shaking his head in small movements. “I accept your apology.” You try to object as that was most definitely not what you wanted to do, but Loki plows on, “You will meet me tomorrow in the kitchen, where you will prepare me lunch and we shall talk about a training schedule as you wish.” 

“What?” The fuck. You think you can feel yourself catching the eye twitch Loki had. Indignation rises into your throat and you again put a hand up to object when your voice gets caught in your throat. Loki’s smiling and it’s big and white and lit his eyes up like a damned Christmas tree and you think you’re going to need to punch your pillow tonight again because there goes your stomach trying to curl up on itself and your ribs attempting to detach themselves and fly away. And yes, you can’t shake entirely that he kind of looks like a wolf, teeth bared at its next victim. But you also cannot ignore that it transforms his face into something younger, that usually the lines of stress and irritation and burden drag down. A youthful wolf. God, you were going fucking insane. 

While you stand there looking like your having an aneurism, Loki steps back into his room and shuts the door on your face. You tell yourself it’s resentment, this feeling in your chest. It’s because you have a thing for nice eyes, and can’t stand the person attached. It’s the position of the moon and stars. Too many excuses run through your head to be natural, but you need them because otherwise you are left with, yeah, no. Your left with nothing. The coast is clear. The guy just told you to make him a sandwich, like you’re some kind of maid. What a jerkoff. 

***

The plate, holding one of your most glorious sandwiches, sits in front of the bastard untouched. Turkey, cold cuts, honey mustard, lettuce, and cheese settled nicely between two toasted brioche buns, times two. Yours is half gone and as you cram another bite into your mouth and Loki looks at you with disgusted awe. Serves him right, you were a goddamn talent at stuffing food into your mouth and you deserved to be appreciated. You also deserved to be appreciated because you made a sandwich for a guy who thought turning you into his personal chef, was trying to make nice-nice. It has taken a special type of determination to get you out of bed this morning.

This strangely summoned motivation is slowly slipping through your fingers though, as the god eyes the food before him with equal parts distrust and haughtiness. 

“Would you like me to feed it to you, your highness?” You say around a mouth of bread and goodness. Loki scoffs and for a horrible and heavily conflicted second, you think he will say yes but instead he picks it up gingerly. The way he’s approaching the stack you can already tell he isn’t going to be able to get the ideal meat to condiment ratio. Ha, amateur. It looks like this is genuinely his first sandwich though and, as he bites down you feel kind of privileged to be witnessing this. A god’s first sandwich, how human. 

He moans something deep to the sandwich, putting it down and swallowing. “These,” He gestures to the plate enthusiastically, “Are very good,” You nod in agreement, eyes drifting to where he licks a stray glob of honey mustard from his thumb. Your brain rears its ugly head (again) painfully pointing out how they are not like the bear paws that Thor carries his hammer around with. They’re long and slim, elegant so much so, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a piano player. Bet he could do shit with them just like that one guy back in- Loki looks at you strangely and you snap out of it quickly, realizing you had just been ogling your lunch partner. “What did you wish to discuss?”

You’re guard was down, or so you blamed on what slipped out of your mouth next, because you seemed to be making a lot more of these excuses when Loki was around. “The giant blue alien I shifted into yesterday would be a start,” 

The second the words leave your lips Loki straightens in his chair, looking at you down his nose. “I thought it was commonplace knowledge that my origins are not of Asgard,” He tilts his head, inviting you to question this further, react negatively, and you can almost feel the biting response that he will inevitably come up with. You refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

Nodding, you take another bite of lunch, “That’s cool.” You swallow fully and gesture to your hands, “This ice thing happened with my hands, like a sword, can you do that too?” You can see him track the movement of your throat as it works around the food and switch quickly back to your face. 

“No, I have spent so long in this form, my abilities as a Jotun have been greatly limited. I was surprised you could access them,” 

“Is that why you ran away?” 

“I did not run away!” He fires back, voice almost raised to a shout. It takes great self-control not to flinch and to your relief, he seems to get the message and sits back in his chair, slouched over slightly. You can’t help but notice the bend in his usually rod-like posture looks worn down. 

“I was collecting myself. I have not seen one in a very long time,” He grabs the lunch you made for him and you both bite into the food. 

“How long?”

“Eons. Enough for thousands of your lifespan to fit into.” He means it in an insult, and you dimly think that is the only way he is programmed: instigator. So you don’t bite, you snicker from around your full mouth. 

“What?” He demands. 

“It’s just,” You laugh some more before swallowing, realizing some etiquette before food comes out of your nose. Now that would be mortifying, “You’re really old, like older than Steve old. “ Loki looks lost and you start laughing again. “See the funny thing about it is, you’re still totally the biggest baby in this tower,” 

He narrows his eyes at you, trying to figure out whether you are joking or not. Spoiler alert, you’re not. Luck seems to be on your side though, because the corner of Loki’s mouth quirks up, which you have come to know is essentially equal to a full on grin, in normal person standards. You count it as a win, but you still cannot help but wonder what it takes to make him laugh like last night, the way it had punched out of him, the way the smile had lessened the seemingly constant melancholy that surrounded him.

“You should stop eating like that. It is sickening to watch,” He comments

“Shield your eyes then,” You say, taking another huge mouthful, “ Because I am a poster girl for table manners.” 

“(Y/N), close your mouth when you eat. I feel sick.” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about!” 

“Do you wish for me to intervene? You will have forced my hand,”

“Okay, okay! Keep your hands to yourself,” 

“You are impossible to work with.”

“Says the guy who refused to train with me properly for over a week,” 

“I had a logical reasoning behind my behaviour, I assure you,” That sparked your interest enough to put a halt on the light conversation. You try to encourage him to continue. 

He shakes his head lightly, “I did not believe you were physically strong enough to match my strength,” You frown, he wasn’t completely wrong. “I see now your deficit is not in strength, but tactical approach.” You wanted to tell him he was wrong, but you couldn’t see the flaw in his thinking. The only time that you had matched Loki during training was when you had channelled your frustrations for a well thought out purpose. He might actually know what he was talking about. 

“I was surprised by your shift and then again by your bluntness last night,” He side-eyes you teasingly, “Not many can do such, so I will tolerate you,” You scowl heavily to hide the pride that is attempting to bust out of the cage you put it in. So he hadn’t apologized for being a jerk, but at least progress was being made in their approach to stomaching each other. 

“We will work,” Another lip quirk, another small victory. “And you will cook me these,” Sandwiches, you reminded him cautiously, “Sandwiches for the remainder of this week’s lunch,” You protest loudly, but Loki has gotten up and left you with the dishes before you can complain enough. 

 

***

This was how you ended up with turkey sandwiches for lunch for a week straight, a decent training partner, and the rockiest friendship possibly anyone has had in the history of ever. 

***


	3. step three: give up, give in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, minimal editing, this is a long chapter and I am lazy.

***

You felt something shift along your ribs and pain sparking down your side as Loki threw you into the panelling of the training facility. The form you had chosen, a lion, slipped from your concentration and you felt yourself shifting human before you could stop yourself. Your lungs heaved, trying to gulp down air and failing miserably. You gasped in small pants, whatever injury you had just suffered preventing you from expanding your lungs completely. You groan, rolling onto your back slowly, to see Loki staring at you with a torn look. Half concern, half disgust at the latter.

You were getting good at reading his previously blank face: the deeper you dug, the more emotions you uncovered. It just took someone that cared enough to, which was a strange phenomenon towards Loki you had slowly and hesitantly admitted to yourself having. The past month has been a flurry of gruelling workouts; small, almost pointless, SHIELD missions; and strange fleeting moments of camaraderie between you and the resident ex-villain. You were still not completely sure that Stockholm syndrome wasn’t at work, explaining the small chest pains you got at random intervals. 

On the brighter side, the fleeting attraction you thought you had to the man’s eyes had also passed, praise God, or you don’t think the training would have been going so well. Your powers were growing and strengthening, hopefully in time for any larger missions. You had Loki to thank unsurprisingly, and he did not pause to remind you at every chance. 

Said god was still above you with a hand extended, waiting for you to get over the pain. “In battle, you will not be so lucky as to have your enemy as kind as I. Get up.” You wince the entire way, but accept. 

“If by kind, you mean manhandling me, then I think I can handle it,” 

“If I was truly manhandling you (Y/N), trust me when I say you would know,” 

Your back stiffened slightly, these type of ambiguous comments were becoming more frequent in your time with the man, and you didn’t know what to do with them. They countlessly left you flailing. “Try me,” 

You take a few paces back and signal him to come at you once again. Loki pulls his lips up in the briefest of smiles before surging towards you. You duck at his swing, looking up just in time to roll out of the way as a boot comes flying towards your head. Getting your stance back quickly, you turn to face what has become at least twenty copies of Loki. 

Bastard brought out the magic. Choosing a form without difficulty, you shift back into the lion you were minutes ago, and locate your partner’s scent easily through the crowd of clones. Roaring loudly, you charge through the glamour magic, pressing two sheathed paws against the man’s chest and shoving him to the ground easily. A burst of green light erupts from his hands and you scramble off of him to avoid the blast that catches the tip of your ear. He fucking didn’t.

Thinking quickly, you concentrate your drifting mind on an animal with thicker skin, dimly aware of your bones pulling away from each other as your form expands larger and larger, the burn of Loki’s magic still hitting you. You take a staggering step back, fearful of another hit, but Loki’s magic has stopped bombarding you. He stares with a slightly agape mouth, eyes shinning happily. He then, for the second time in a month, tilts his head back and starts laughing. Sitting down on the floor of the centre he looks at you with tears in his eyes, “I give up. I will not fight such a creature, I fear you will crush me.” You glance down to a grey stumpy leg and the cheeks of whatever animal’s shape you are borrowing, heat. The form melts around you and you collapse on the ground a few feet in front of Loki, who is still looking at you with an idiotic grin plastered on his face. You bury your head in your hands, shaking your head. Rhino. How elegant, how fight ready. Your powers were getting stronger, but apparently they still weren’t perfect. 

“Never. Talk about this again,” You said, your hands muffling your words. 

“That is a promise that you know I cannot make,” You can hear the smugness in his voice and you want to shift right back into that rhinoceros and stamp it out of his tone. 

“Bite me.”

“I believe that is your job.”

***

Somehow Tony roped you all in for a bonding night, which is code in whatever language he speaks for beers and a movie. The promise of alcohol and a warm sofa to put up your feet after a battering is too tempting despite your rightful suspicions of ulterior motives. So after a long shower, the hot water pounding against your back, loosening the tight muscles and working out the knots, you make towards the movie room decked out in sweatpants and a far too large turtleneck. Your slippers pad down the hallways silently, stopping at the doorway to take the scene in. 

The crew is sprawled over the giant couch. Natasha, who is lounged on the hand rest, is playing a game with Bucky where they progressively whisper crass and crasser things into Steve’s ear, if the tinge of his face is anything to go by. Banner is reluctantly listening to whatever theory Tony was talking about over the rim of his beer bottle, and Clint was trying to explain the concept of how archery was the furthest thing from magic to two incredulous Asgardians. A smile graces your lips as a soft spot makes itself known in your chest for your teammates. 

You spot an opening on the floor below where Loki is sitting and plant yourself there, your back pressed up again his dangling legs. You make grabby hands at Tony trying to get yourself a beer, but the man is still not looking at you, however much Bruce wishes that he would stop talking. A cool bottle presses into your palm and you jolt as Loki looks down on you, as he gestures with his hand again for you to take the bottle. When you look to your hand however, it is not a beer, but a clear bottle holding jack that looks more like Johnny Walker. You raise your eyebrows and glance to Thor is taking a sip out of a similar drink. His looks almost full, the liquid darker, whereas the one Loki gives you is half empty. His eyes dance with an ease that only comes from alcohol. 

“It is from Asgard. If one drinks it fast enough, I have learned the archer’s words start to make sense,” A faint grin teases his lips as you take the bottle from his hands and his eyes’ usual pinched look loosens when you raise the brown stuff to eye level. 

“Is this stuff safe on humans?”

“Don’t be a coward,” That wasn’t an answer but a challenge. 

For the past month this has also been what your friendship has been comprised of: an undercurrent of scoping out each other’s boundaries. The occasions weren’t anything big, but these little games that Loki seemed to love so much were about competition. Getting that one last punch in at training, finishing a mission first, throwing caution to the wind when drinking strange otherworldly whiskey. 

You think it came from the fact he was bored, which almost made the situation scary, because it meant he was either am actual sociopath or dangerously determined. Now that you think about it, probably a mix of both. But hell if your stubborn self was going to let him outdo you. Or maybe it was that you secretly-

You take a long pull of the liquid, coughing as it burns down your throat, erasing the trail of thought you did not want to walk along. Thor turns to look at you in surprise, and then barely contained glee. 

“That was either very brave or very stupid little human,” And in a very Thor like manner, tips his head back and laughs like he knows something you don’t. Instead of dwelling on it, you grunt and continue to tilt the bottle back further. 

You were correct in that you didn’t need to question his mocking tone, as ten minutes later you are pressing into Loki’s side, after climbing up onto the couch and squeezing between a very large god and a very soft armrest. You claim your butt is hurting. The armrest agrees the floor is not the most comfortable. Your vision has also stopped working properly, and is lagging every time you nod your head that you are okay, to a bemused looking Loki. He had finished off of the rest of the bottle but in contrast seems like he is managing to control himself.

“What. The fuck did I drink.” You blurt out when your legs start wandering closer to Loki’s lap. 

“You are fine, relax.” Loki’s voice comes close to your ear. You want to remind him of the personal space he seems to be invading recently, but his breath is hot on your neck and you’re a glutton for punishment so you simply sigh contentedly and lean back. 

The trouble really starts when Loki’s hands can’t find a place to rest. He tells you to lean your back against the armrest and put your legs on his lap, like a footrest and because again, your brain has stopped providing you with reasons this is a bad idea, you do. His hands eventually settle lightly on your ankles. The rest of the movie get lost on you, because 10 minutes after your position switch, Loki slides his hands down to your sore calves and starts kneading lightly. You hiss because everything is always sore these days, but allow him to continue because damn he has magic fingers. They probably could do a lot of other stuff. 

A lot of amazingly inappropriate stuff like purposeful movements up your thighs.

Like his lips dancing along your jawline, and then lower, lower, lower. 

Like a teasing pressure just short of where you really want it to be, punctuated by breathy pleading.

Like his lips on yours, so very different to his reverent touches, desperate and needy and-

You don’t have time to ask yourself what the fuck you were just thinking in whatever hole the alcohol lead you down, because everyone is getting off of the couch and the movie is over. A little dazed and cheeks still warm from the alcohol, you look to see Tony raising the dimness of the lights up to at least something visible and quickly remove your legs from Loki’s lap. Glancing beside you, the dark haired man also seems a little out of it. Probably missing the free heated blanket that your thighs were. Jeans just aren’t cutting it these days. 

Tony is announcing something to the group, so you detach your eyes from your teammate turned uninvited sex fantasy. God, this all was going to be so much harder to digest when you’re sober. 

Tony is telling you that apparently the real fun hasn’t even started yet and he has decided that the club that runs a block away from the base of his tower, is phase two of the night. You raise your hand warily, “I don’t think I’ll be joining this phase,” One of the British accented Asgardians agrees with you. Who knows, it might even be the one that your brain supplies you definitely wish it were. 

“Fine. Pass for the two losers. But I have a limited number of rain checks for the night. Tash, Thor, Capsicle, Bucky and Banner, welcome to a world of booze, sex and pure imagination,” Tony seems pleased with the image he created but Banner soon mumbles something about dangerous green men in small crowded spaces. Tony breezes past this interruption with his explanation of a two-story dance club called Cirque and the word stripper drifts to your ears in the stream of senseless words. Loki clears his throat at this.

“I will not be joining in this. Send the women my regret,” Your brain clears a little at this, but it isn’t in concern for you, but out of concern of the location of Loki. What a traitor.

***

 

So the others got geared up and set out sans Loki, you and Banner. Steve even got roped into it, unsurprisingly by Bucky, who drags him along with reassuring comments of how the bar would be a safe space from any wandering pole goers. Steve doesn’t really believe him. You sure as hell don’t. 

“You wanna watch another movie?” You turn to the two men whom quickly become one as Banner gives you an odd look and heads off for an early night, with the excuse of something like discovering the secrets of wavelengths of electrons. That leaves you with one. Fuck. 

You seem to be able to look everywhere but Loki, because you still don’t trust your alcohol induced lower boundaries. Because fuck it. If there was anytime to admit it, it was now. There was no fooling yourself anymore that that thing with his eyes was a fleeting thought, because you thought Loki was good looking. Those stupid moments where one look made you do a double take, stumbling during practice; or that stupid alpha male broad shoulder thing he did during missions, which made your stomach flip. Turns out they weren’t a mistake or some wrongly interpreted Stockholm syndrome shit, because the moment you lock eyes with him since drinking way too much of that god-juice, the puzzle pieces slip into place. 

Fuck him for looking that good in black jeans. Fuck him for his high cheekboned and smooth skinned looks of indifference. Fuck him for his abnormally striking eyes and-

All those questions about this place in the Avengers. Your insistence to get him to be on friendly terms with you. The weirdly comfortable beats of silence followed by your tangible effort making him laugh, if just to see his harsh corners bend once in a while. The chest pains. The wandering wet daydreams. No, you didn’t have a coronary disease, and no you didn’t just look up to this guy like a role model. You had a thing for him. 

A weird, unexplainable thing for Loki. Because here’s the stick about it all; Loki wasn’t the type of guy you went for. He wasn’t open, he didn’t particularly show you any interest at even a friendship at first, and he certainty did not have a way with social situations. Loki was, simply put, an exception. He was quiet, yes, but only because he said what he truly meant. 

For a god of mischief, his blatant honesty was off-putting to some borderline rude, but underlined a sort of rough charisma you liked. He was thoughtful but smart enough, almost on Banner level, that nobody noticed the gears turning in his head until the effects of this action were laid in front of them. Loki was also conflicted, but not as in multiple personalities, as in take me in and care for me. It was a kind of magnetic nature, which without meaning to, had pulled you in. 

Well that sobered you up all right. 

But you can’t find a reason for why would you voice any of this, so instead, “Are you into Romcoms?”

Loki scoffs. “Horror is preferable,”

“Before you agree to this, I’m warning you that I’m jumpy as fuck,” 

“I believe I can handle you,” He says firmly.

“I don’t doubt it,” You respond shakily. 

A beat of silence. By the time you have realized you are looking at him longer than a normal interaction, your legs are already walking back into the movie room to pick out an appropriate title. Why was this so hard? Why were you holding back? You searched unsuccessfully. 

“May I request?” 

“Go ahead,” 

***

So you don’t know where Loki pulled another one of those strange alcohol bottles from, but soon he is drinking out of it like it’s water. Not fair, you are having issues too. You interrupt his liver ruining activities by softly prying the bottle from his hands, and pressing the rim to your lips, attempting a futile attempt at a gulp. Three mouthfuls down and you are out. You refuse to give the bottle back. 

The more you drink, the warmer Loki’s thigh pressed against yours feels. But this is an unforgiving look because the thought drives the bottle to your lips again, and you forget human consumption of this shit must not be healthy. 

Thankfully, all the warm legs in the world couldn’t distract you from the music of shredding violins and heavily built up suspense coming from Tony’s expensive speakers. Silence of the Lambs was an older movie and something you hadn’t thought would cause you to head straight for the ceiling. However, you realized this grave mistake when you found your tipsy self practically jumping straight onto Loki’s lap when Hannibal lunges towards the screen. You are breathing loudly when you tentatively make more space between you and the man next to you. A slurred sorry comes out of your mouth but before you can untangle your second half from his legs, two hands are placed on your hips. 

“You can stay if you are confortable,” Loki’s breath was tinged with the slightly fruity scent of Asgardian beverage and matched your own. It was close. 

Suddenly the empty darkness of movie room loomed in front of you. 

You nodded mutely, but settled back into his warmth. Getting back into the movie, you were affronted by a man found dangling with his stomach pouring out. You made a cut off noise and hid your face in the hinge of Loki’s neck and shoulder. Probably not the smartest move, but you were jittery and drunk and apparently Loki didn’t mind, because he stiffens in one moment and then presses back towards you in the next. 

“’ ’Sit gone? ” 

“No,” The answer he gives seems hitched. The movie must be getting worse. 

“How ‘bout now?” 

“No,” 

You didn’t believe him. 

“Don’t believe you.”

“You may look now,” Removing yourself slightly you take a glance up to him to see him looking down at you with an amused expression. And here’s the second rub of the day, because you finally admit to yourself that you’ve had a month long one-sided relationship, and now the guy is being accommodating. 

“Don’t tease me,” Loki doesn’t respond because he is still looking at you, eyes searching your face for something that he can’t seem to find. 

“What?” The word seems sluggish out of your mouth, or maybe it is the fact that you are still shoved up against Loki’s neck, so close, your lips are almost brushing the skin. You are suddenly very aware of your surroundings, like a current is running through you. The couch is oh so very empty and the crackling movie serves as background noise to the gentle up and down of Loki’s chest. His breathing is louder than you remember and becoming minutely faster the closer your lips get to his neck. Again, the alcohol is making it hard for you to remember why you were holding back. So you forget.

His body shudders from underneath you when you place a small kiss to the hinge of his jaw. You look up through your lashes, waiting for approval to continue. You don’t get an answer, but you don’t need one because instead, Loki lets out a rumbling groan, tilting his head back. You start nipping along his neck, working your way up, kisses becoming open mouthed as he pants into the dark air. 

And Christ, by the time you reach his lips you need something, anything from him. His heat is a welcoming sanctuary from the cool air of the movie room, and the musky smell that you never could quite seem to grasp is intoxicating this close. You shift to look to him, face to face you can feel his puffs of air, you breath him in. You glance at his lips as he flicks his tongue out to wet them, and then back at his light eyes, glittering brightly even in the dim. All it takes to give away your desperation is how you breath out his name. 

“Loki…” 

Because fuck you would be lying if your voice didn’t give away how much you wanted him to kiss you senseless, shove you against the wall, pull you on top of him to straddle his hips, rock you into a mattress. Anything. Everything. 

You surge together. It wasn’t the reverent touches you imagined earlier, but better. It was the frustrations of weeks of pretending to hate each other, and the joining of two personalities who by all means should not be compatible, but are. Loki, in a grab for power, licks his way into your mouth, his tongue a wicked tool that could bring you to your knees. You don’t bend though, pressing further against him causing your teeth to clash, but Loki is used to battles and this one is no different. 

He surprises you and bites down on your bottom lip with little restraint. The pain is a searing jolt in the surge of heat running through your veins, and finally you snap, letting out an embarrassingly loud whimper. You bare your neck to him like a prize as he attaches himself to you. He is thorough: biting lightly on the places he lays kisses on, sucking dark marks to remember the trail he leaves on you. Your finger’s tangle in his dark hair, ruffling it out of place, and tug lightly when he latches onto your sweet spot. Without your permission, a sound punches out of your lungs, caught between a keening noise and a moan. He growls, wrapping his lithe arms around your torso pulling you fully onto his lap, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You can feel his smirk against your skin when he realizes you have no bra on. 

You comply, lifting your arms, because honestly, in a moment such as this, where you can’t tell whether you are drunk from the alcohol or sobered by the intensity of which Loki is working you over with, there is nothing else to do. His hands are wandering everywhere. He slips your sleeping shorts off with ease. His fingers dust over your breasts, rubbing lazy circles into your nipples, then trace lower, massaging the soft skin of your inner thighs. You whisper nonsense to him impatiently, brain clouded with whatever magic his fingers are playing with. You think he is going to ignore your demands until a sharp spike of pleasure runs to your curling toes as he presses two fingers against you, and strokes in quick, hard motions. You cry out, muffling your noises by biting down on his shoulder. Loki’s defined hips jerk up from the couch involuntarily. 

You can feel a hard length against your ass so in an attempt to even the playing field, you yank his shirt over his head and press your lips against his once again. You explore the expanse of his chest, smooth and taut and scarred in a way that made you hot in all the right places. It was a chest you had felt under your hands during combat practice throwing punches. Scars he received on missions you had been on too, battle wounds that you collected together. This was Loki, the god, and he was hot and heavy because of you. You wanted to laugh. 

Instead your hand tracks down until arriving at the buckle of his belt, loosening its grip on his hips and replacing it with your own inquisitive fingers. You tease at the band of his jeans, slipping your fingers briefly under his boxer’s, not quite where he wants it. You follow the trail of dark hairs you glimpsed not so long ago, and then removed your hand to run your palm lightly, too lightly over the bulge. He releases your lips and you see his finely constructed face fall back into the back of the couch with a groan. 

“I will not beg you,” His voice is gravelly and sounds surprisingly effected. 

“Tell me what you want,” You wanted to here him say it. 

“I’ve been patient with you Y/N. Touch me,” He has crooked his neck to look directly at you. It was meant like an order and you couldn’t figure out why it didn’t feel like one. You sank back in his lap and worked his belt off completely. Slipping off of the couch and onto your knees you hear his muffled protests until he understands your intentions. He shimmies out of his jeans, stopping when they are down to his knees. You run your hands up his thighs; they’re runner thighs, long and elegant but muscular and dusted like his lower stomach in soft hair. You place your hands again on his sharp hips pull forward and finally looking on the barely contained bulge. The thin fabric of his boxers has soaked through at his tip, leaking precome. 

You mouth lazily at the evidence of his arousal, smiling when his hips rise off of the couch in search of more friction, “So needy,”

“You are infuriating,” He growls just as you pull his boxers away, and breathe hotly on his straining erection. This shuts him up as you take him into your mouth, lightly playing the tip with your tongue and sucking down the rest. He is large, but not overwhelmingly so, and you feel yourself gag lightly when his hard on touches the back of your throat. Focusing, you hum around his member, bobbing up and down as far as you could with no leverage and taking the rest of him with a tight, wet hand. The angle is not right though and you can see Loki pinning his hips to the sofa with everything he’s got if his white knuckles are anything to go by it. 

You come off of him with a pop, “Loki,” His glazed over eyes lock with yours, “Fuck my mouth,” You didn’t expect this level of restraint because Loki in every sense but this one, took what he wanted. But he seemed to shake this off when the words come out of your mouth, because in seconds his hands are tugging at your (length) hair, and his hips are stuttering in a familiar motion, his erection pushing down the back of your throat every other stroke. He stands up to get a better angle, pushing you farther back; your mouth still full. 

“Fuuuck,” A shaky swear snakes its way out of his mouth and his rhythm shatters, uneven thrusts, short and close. 

You pry yourself out of his strong grip, “Don’t, not yet,” 

You stand up, your head only coming up to his shoulder and take in the scene, both shirts strewn around the room, his erection bobbing needily at his stomach, jeans bunched around his knees and you only in your underwear. His hair is dishevelled, black strands hanging in his face before being swept away, and red marks trailing down from his neck to toned stomach. You wonder if you look as hot under the skin as you feel. A pulse of need from your abdomen reminds you that this needs to happen soon, or you might combust. Loki has fixed you with a predatory look, and it dawns on you then, that he’s very being is by nature is the epitome of power. He is an immortal master of deception, and he is also in front of you with an attention seeking hard on and a thirst for whatever you offer to him. It is almost laughable, but it sends another shot of want to between your legs. 

“I need you now,” You blurt out.

Loki seems to realize the moment of control he has over you and regaining in his self-control, he tugs his jeans and boxers off completely, leisurely strolling to where you stand, staring. The fucker knows he’s gorgeous and it pisses you off. You try to back up, but behind you the wall prevents any further movement. 

Loki leans in close to your ear his voice husky with attraction, “That wasn’t very polite,” His hands snake around to your sides, capturing your wrists and bringing them above your head, restraining you. 

“Be good and ask nicely,” His voice rumbles, his lips mouthing at your earlobe. You tried to stop, to not give into his commands, but your knees were wobbling and you could feel yourself wet. With no answer, Loki shoved a leg between your legs and pressed it harshly against you. The noise you made was more a cry than a moan, but you would never admit that. 

“Already so ready for me. Say it,” Harder, he pressed. You were practically grinding down on his leg. “Say it!” He barked and the words crumbled your shaky endurance. 

“Please Loki, please! Fuck me Loki,” He smiles something nasty, his already striking eyes lit up, and grabs fistfuls of your ass, hoisting you onto his hips easily, your back still pressed into the wall. When he enters you, this also is not the gentle rocking you had imagined. While you revered him with the defeated bow of your head during almost every training session, only once breaking this pattern, Loki worshiped you with every angry snap of his hips. Every rough bite he delivered to the crook of your neck, he showed you your meaning to him. 

A heat starts building in you at his unforgiving pace and you slam your head back into the wall, letting go of your attempts to quiet yourself. High-pitched cries fill the room’s vaulted ceilings and Loki’s laboured pants turn to indulgent moaning. Your name soon became a new mantra, replacing the sound of slapping skin, as his hips faltered one, twice- Sparks of pleasure bolted through your abdomen and legs, and you cried out his name as his thrusts shallowed. 

After unravelling yourselves, a sticky wetness covers the inside of your legs, and at your awkward stride, Loki turns back towards you, running his fingers over your sensitive area, bringing them to his mouth and sucking, grinning smugly around his digits, making a pleased noise. 

You roll your eyes at him and shove him playfully, “Congrats, asshole, you’re a good lay,” 

His answer his encircling your waist again, and mouthing your neck. “That, my lady, is because I am a god,” Laughing, you both make your way to his shower. 

***

The coffee beneath your nose is heavenly, and you groan into the cup as the steam rises to meet your nose. You are standing between Loki’s legs, who currently sitting on the island. It is 11am, and you didn’t remember the last time you slept so late, however it was understandable with the late activities that ensued last night. 

Tony wanders into the kitchen 10 minutes later, dark circles lining his eyes. Thor follows only a few seconds later, a smudge of lipstick smeared across his neck. Steve and Bucky are MIA but Tash strides in looking better than most. You distance yourself from Loki slightly, remembering yourself, however, this probably wasn’t completely necessary, as Thor smiles and claps his brother on the back so hard, he slips off of the counter. 

“Good on you brother,” Your eyes widen. 

Like lemmings, Tony perks up at Thor’s comment and looks decisively at your choice of turtleneck and back to Loki. You can see the edges of a bruise just beneath the collar of his black Henley. Fuck.

Tony’s hangover gloom lifts like a motherfucking fog, “So Reindeer Games, what did you get up to last night? Or should I say who?” You send a glare in Loki’s direction, and silently beg to whatever gods exist for him to keep quiet. 

Your gaze caught his, and you furrowed your brows in a promise of retribution. You knew you lost when his lips pull into a beaming smile and this time you can’t ignore the way your heart tightens. So you give in, the corner of your mouth mirroring his, savouring the momentary carefree teasing filtering into his eyes. 

“I fucking knew it!” Tash shouts as your burry your head into your hands and get roped into Loki’s arms. 

***


End file.
